Mercy in White
by digital coma
Summary: Curious by nature, Altaïr is puzzled by accidentally meeting a person, who knows surprisingly much about him and the Assassin brotherhood. How many secrets of his own soul can he reveal while finding out the identity of the mysterious assassin in black?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:**

Copyrights to the game "Assassin's Creed" and all of its characters belong to Ubisoft/Ubisoft Montreal team. All other characters described here surely belong to me :D

**Author's Note:**

This idea sounds interesting to me, so I promise to write and update ASAP, but as I've already said in my profile, I've got a 4 months old son, who doesn't give me much free time. 90 of what you read is written and downloaded from pocket pc. So, if you decide to read the story, be sure you have some patience. Please? :)

Also, please, don't pay much attention to grammar. It's been a long time since I wrote something in english )

**Mercy in White**

--Prologue--

"Assassin! Assassin! Get him! He must not get away!" - she heard while running to reach the closest building wall. The alarm bell on the nearest tower rang loudly. She cursed under her breath and jumped to climb the wall, a sharp stone hitting her back. Luckily, the building turned out to be a small outhouse so she reached the rooftop easily and jumped further, snatching at the closed wooden shutters, going higher and higher. The screams from the street below indicated that she was still pursued.

"Hope there will be no..."-she thought, and immediately felt the sharp pain in her left side...-"Damn! I'm running out of my luck today!" She didn't need to look there to see the protruding arrow shaft.

In search for cover she crossed the roof, jumped to the next one and down to the narrow street. At the far end a blessed stack of hay lay forgotten, in the shadow of a balcony, covered with moss and ivy.

Trying her best to ignore the increasing throbbing pain, she ran to the hay and jumped in, going deeper, choking at the sweet smell of rot, thanking god that her silk face mask held some of the smell and dampness back, covering her nose and mouth. The last rains did the job well.

A sudden movement next to her caught her off guard, and suddenly a strong arm caught her wrist, twisting it painfully, as, with an unmistakable "clink" something sharp set against her back.

"Not a sound"- she heard the quiet male voice-"Get out of here, now!"

She hissed from pain, as a stranger slightly shifted his weight and brushed against the shaft in her wound. Assuming, that, whoever he might be, hiding in the hay probably proved him at least not the city guard or a Templar, so nothing worse could already happen, she spat, not even trying to move: "I can't, you idiot! Not the very moment at least half of the city guard looking for me in this area!", and heard the soft surprised chuckle.

"So, you happen to be the very assassin they screamed and ran for?"-asked the man, still invisible, still holding the blade against her. She felt anger flushing away the pain and weariness with a white hot wave.

"None of this is your business! I have my own reasons for hiding, the same as you do! So put your damned blade away and let go of me! I'll wait here for some time and leave. Be sure, I'm not interested in either your identity or your affairs in this district!"

She almost felt the silent smirk behind, as the blade slowly retracted, the grip on her wrist letting go. The invisible man brushed the sticking shaft again, and this made her hiss louder this time.

"You're wounded?"-he silently asked, the tone slightly changed to more gentle

"As I said, none of this is your business. I can take care of myself"- she whispered, annoyed, reaching her wounded side with right hand, inspecting, trying to pull the arrow away or at least break some part of it off, so that the journey back home could be a slightest bit more comfortable. But as the first anger and excitement of the pursue subsided, slowly giving place to weary, even the light touch to the arrow brought the pain so surprisingly intensive, that it took her a great effort to suppress the moan. Better not touch that thing, if she wanted to make it home fast and alive. She cursed and moved her body, protecting the wounded left side, quite too busy to show any curiosity for her neighbour.

The ringing of bells soon stopped, as well as the shouts of the guards. She decided it would be the best to get out of the damp stack and return home before the pain and weariness could slow down her movements. Surpisingly, turning around she found that her soft-voiced anonymous neighbour made it out of the hay right after her. For a brief moment of silence they stared at each other.

He turned out to be tall and slender- and that was all she could see, because all his figure was covered under white robes, and shadow of the hood covered most of his face, leaving visible only his nose and rather fine-looking lips, currently curved in a lopsided grin. The man was certainly dressed to pass as a monk, or a scholar... If monks and scholars could wear that amount of weapon, as he did. A long sword with golden ornated hilt in scabbard on his left hip, hilts of throwing knives on the right and left sides of his wide leather belt, ornated gauntlets... And that was not all, she was sure. He also must have had a hidden blade of some sort, which had been set against her back not so long ago... And there definitely was some sheath on his back, judge by criss-crossed stripes of leather on his chest. "A rather dangerous scholar..."- that thought made her grin under her face mask. That, and the fact that they both were dressed almost identically, except only that her face mask, silk robes and leather armor were black. And, of course, she had a bit less impressive amount of weaponry.

Something was definitely familiar about the outfit of this man... Something so deeply hidden in the depths of her memory, that it took her some time to recall... As the tall figure in white finally turned away and in one quick elegant motion jumped on the balcony railing, briefly showing the crimson sash and the sheathed dagger on his back before disappearing on the rooftop, the last doubts she had vanished like smoke...

--

The next piece is almost ready!


	2. 1 Stargazers

A/N:

**A/N:**

Thank you, guys, for the reviews! It's nice to see, that you read this and liked it so far. I do my best to find free time and write :)

My best regards to **shuffle-panda**! It will be amusing to compare our stories later on :)) I liked yours as well :D

And the last… Duh the annoying update system at ffNet hasn't changed a bit! Believe me, I _saw_ the mistakes and incorrectly represented symbols in prologue, I even edited the document! But I still see the same in browser /

**Mercy in White**

**--Chapter 1 "Stargazers"--**

The sound of thunder woke her from her thoughts. The windows in the room were open, letting in the blessed coolness and the fresh smell of rain.

She looked outside. The deserted streets were glittering under heavy storm, all city-dwellers hidden in the safety of their houses. The smell of promise, of adventure, the smell of freedom ran through the air.

A night not to be spent within the house...

She put on her silk face mask ("Well... Seems like I'm doomed to wear that annoying thing forever... But that was my choice, after all...") and robe, after a brief hesitation buckled the scabbard with her sword to the hip and put her favorite poniard in her leather boot, another one already in its sheath in her left sleeve. "That would do, for the night"- she thought, climbing on the window-sill and out of the room, into the rain.

"This journey is best made from one roof to another" - she smiled to herself, enjoying the feeling of cold water soaking through the black silk, wrapping her in cool embrace, the feeling of wet stone under her deft fingers so familiar and calming.

--

The mission in Damascus was over, but Altaïr decided to spend the night in bureau, either than soaking down to his undergarments on the horseback. Surprisingly, Rafik wasn't against it, even suggested some extra pillows and a colorful blanket.

"Despite his constant grumbling about the disturbances in the city that each of my arrivals brings, sometimes he is a rather understanding man..."

Altaïr set his back against the wall and listened to the sounds of the storm, as the heavy rain little by little made the crowd in the street thin out. His thoughts were wandering from one point to another, until at last he remembered his amusing encounter with a mysterious "assassin" in black a few days ago.

"Indeed, of all the covers in the district, of all hay in the city he has chosen the very same!" - he thought with a chuckle. This made him remember a brief confusing moment later, when his trained analytic mind had tried to combine a certain male appearance (though there was not much of an "appearance", indeed - the man was all covered in black, even wore the black face mask, leaving visible only eyebrows and pale grey eyes) and the strangely soft voice. He would even call this a female voice, but for the abovementioned appearance, more precisely - the lack of certain curves here and there, usually associated with women.

On the other hand, weapon was not the thing, usually associated with women... That man had at least a sword, judging by the scabbard on his right hip ("Right hip? He must be left-handed then... A rare thing among the swordsmen of the Holy Land... "), and also the crossbow and the dagger in sheath on his back. Altaïr didn't know many trained women, in fact he knew none, that's why meeting this stranger in black had aroused his curiosity.

From the Creed's sources of information he learnt, that Muhammed Amir, the Damascus second nobility and, by gossips, one of the biggest slave traders, had been killed the same day he met the "assassin" in black and heard the alarm bells ringing. Killed before the Creed had a chance to announce the white feather for him and a price for his life. It meant that someone was gathering information much faster, and was as good at killing, as the trained white hoods of Masyaf. That was rather disturbing.

"If I ever have a chance to meet that man again, I must learn something, whatever it takes" - Altaïr thought to himself and got up.

It would be stupid to waste such night by mere sleeping.

--

She fled from one rooftop to another, jumping easily, climbing the walls up and down, quietly avoiding those few poor archers left to guard the streets on such stormy night. She didn't know where her legs were leading her, just the pleasure of the night and fresh air and cold waterdrops on the silk of the robe was her guide. The city looked so peaceful and deserted under the heavy storm.

One of the turns brought her to the wall of one of the watch towers.

"The view would be amazing... Hope I won't have to kill anyone to get to the highest point" - she thought and began climbing up, poniard ready in its sheath in case someone was waiting for her on the top.

"This place would be the best to recall some memories, buried in the past long ago..."

--

Altaïr was lost in his thoughts, traveling through the city, hardly noticing the cold rain and wind, the tails of his white robes flying behind him. Since Al Mualim's death everything had changed so much. He never considered himself a thinker, an analytic, a man that seeks answers instead of mere killing, but here he was now - out in the city, thinking about the bits of information he just gathered, calculating the chances and possibilities... With Malik at the head of the brotherhood, he practically became his own master. He still had missions and white feathers that Master gave him, but he gained an opportunity to discuss the purposes and methods, free to do what he thought was best. He was better in tactics and in battle, but he definitely lacked certain patience to control an organization as large in number, as the assassin brotherhood, it was not a secret, neither to him nor to Malik, so it was common now for the new Master to seek advice from his best assassin.

He had no remorse about what had happened to Al Mualim and his own role in it, though sometimes he missed the old man, who took him from the streets and taught him the only craft he knew, wishing everything could be different...

--

She sat on the wooden beam, resting her elbow on one knee, her other leg not very elegantly hanging down over the deserted square, her back against the cold stone of the tower parapet. The rain was letting up, but the light pleasant chill lingered in the air, keeping away the Damascus famous ever-present heat. The raindrops still drummed on the rooftops, lulling her, driving away...

She sighed. No, those memories are hard to be distracted from, once stirred up by meeting the man in white hood... An assassin from Masyaf...

She recalled the chilly air and resonating echo of those narrow stone passages, the magnificent vault of the main hall, the endless bookshelves filled with most amazing pieces of literature she ever got acquainted with... The unbearable heat of the training ring, with its constant jingle of steel and encouraging cheers of the audience in white and gray robes... Her first training lessons, mostly secret...

It's been a really long time... She never thought of coming back, though now the possibility of seeing it all again seemed rather desirable... and unwise... She still had some contacts in the brotherhood, but she had to stay anonymous to most part of them, if she wanted to stay alive. Women were neither allowed, nor valued there.

She sighed again and looked at the clear spot in the night sky above, the stars, quiet observers, always there to watch... They have seen so much, in so many years... Sometimes her life with all risks and adventures and dangers seemed so brief and unimportant under that eternal light...

All choices had been made, regretted or not, and even if she had a chance, she wouldn't change anything.

She had no way back, and all she could do was continue dancing that dangerous dance started long ago...

--

Sitting under the wooden shed on the roof of Damascus library, Altaïr watched the stars above his head. After winning his internal battle against vanity and ambitions and letting go the chance to possess the greatest power in the world, he often thought of the insignificance of the brief human life compared to something that had been born long before the first man ever walked this ground, and will still be young long after the last breath of the human race... It's not like he doubted the purpose of his missions... What else could he do in this life, trained only to kill, hide, eavesdrop and steal? "Indeed, a noble man" - he chuckled.

A lonely slender silhouette against the clear spot in night sky caught his attention. A stranger was sitting on the wooden beam of one of Damascus watch towers... At the assassins' usual view point...

Altaïr got up. As far as he knew, he was the only assassin on the mission in this city. Could it be that same stranger? If so, he was surprisingly familiar with the brotherhood ways of hiding and gathering information about the city for a person not of the Creed...

As Altaïr watched, the silent figure on the tower stood up, reached the end of the beam and dove headfirst, disappearing among the buildings.

"Impossible" - he gasped, jumping from his watching point - "the leap of faith, taught in Masyaf only... Who the hell can this man be?"

If the stranger landed where he assumed, it was only a few blocks away... He could make it within a couple of minutes...

He should not miss such excellent opportunity!

--

**A/N:** Shame on me, but I can't remember the name of the Damascus bureau leader… (confused) Either it was not mentioned in the game, or I simply forgot it. Anyways, let's leave it just "Rafik" for now, ok? :)


	3. 2 Ruined tranquility

**A/N: **

I apologize for the long time it took me to update. Got distracted first by Euro'2008, and then by the long-awaited book "Shadows Return", by my favorite author Lynn Flewelling. I've been waiting for it for 8 years, read it in 2 days, and now ready to continue MiW :)

Thank you to those who wait for an update and write reviews. I appreciate your attention! bows Hope you're still there to continue :)

And yes, I know how to write Altaïr's name, but as I wrote most part of this story on Pocket PC, I didn't want to waste time on correcting the symbol. Ok. I'll write it properly from now on. I'll even correct it in the previous chapters. I know, how it feels, when somebody writes your name incorrectly :)

**Mercy in White**

**Chapter 2 --"Ruined tranquility"--**

She got out of the cart and shook the hay out of her robe, then adjusted the veil on her head and looked up. The sky was slowly clearing up, as the waning night was slowly giving place to the new dawn.

"Time to get away from the streets, before the guards begin taking interest..."

Looking around, she noticed a building with a balcony and started walking towards it, enjoying cool summer air. Halfway to the building, she heard noise from behind and then – commanding voice: "Stop! Name yourself!"

"Oh, hell… Here it goes…" – She sighed and slowly turned around, hoping to manage the situation without waking all the guards in this district - "Uh… I'm Ahmeth As-Salah… A chemist apprentice, sir… My master has sent me to find some herbs…"

"In the middle of the night, huh?" - the guard grinned and moved closer.

"Oh, you see, we have a rush order. Our neighbour's wife has a hemorrhage, a serious one, he's waiting in the shop, and I've been sent to find a special herb outside the city… Unfortunately we have run out of it, and it can help better than the decoctions usually used…"

The guard spat on the ground and unsheathed his sword, starting walking towards her. As he did so, several Saracen soldiers appeared from around the corner and approached the guard, asking if there were any problems.

As, after a short conversation, the Saracens turned towards her as well, she sighed under her face mask, silently counting them. It seemed that this night wasn't going to end up as peacefully, as it had started… The chemists never wore weapons and black… as well as they seldom covered their faces… White of course was better for blending with the crowd… But she had lost her right to wear white robes…

Or, more precisely, she didn't have it from the start…

The guard was only few steps away from her now. He grinned and asked: "If you are an honest apprentice of your master, then it won't be difficult for you to guide us to your shop so that we could verify your name and probably help escorting your noble client and his wife, if they need…"

"And if you most likely refuse, or lead us the wrong way" – she read on his face - "Then I'll prove you're a dirty thief or a murderer, and, be sure, escort you to a place more suitable for such scum, as you are, then the rich district!". The soldiers didn't even try hiding their grins and chuckles, looking forward to teaching the "dirty bastard" some good manners and knocking the nonsence out of him in some dark narrow alley.

She shot a quick glance across the square, observing on the closest way that lead to the roofs of the rich district and looked at the guard with the expression of ultimate servility on her face.

"Can I pick the herbs I was sent for at first, sir? Or do you wish me to lead you to the shop immediately?"

"I'm sure your herbs can wait! Have you not heard the order of the city guard?" - One of the soldiers snapped out.

She looked at him with terror in her eyes – "Yes, yes, sir, I understand. This way, please…" – and, turning her back on them, started walking towards the nearby alley.

The noise from behind told her, that all five soldiers and a guard turned their way to follow her.

--

Altaïr watched as the person in black made his way to the dark alley leading out from the square into the rich district of Damascus. He smirked. The sword, black clothes and face mask certainly didn't help him pass as a chemist's apprentice. Though, black is good at night, when you need to disappear among the shadows in a narrow street, or at the roof of a rich house.

Silently he sneaked on the forgotten scaffolding, keeping the distance, but not falling behind. He had just got an excellent opportunity to see whether this mysterious man was as good in battle as in acrobatics and hiding. This alley lead to a dead end, but the buildings fronting on it were richly decorated with sculptures, had large amount of balconies and additional storeys, simplifying a problem of hiding from soldiers and city guards at dawn.

--

This alley lead to a dead end, but she wasn't going to wander about the city until dawn anyway. Turning around the corner, she heard a silent curse and a sound of steps speeding up. The guards knew this part of the city rather well. The familiar wall with ornate balcony was so close…

She didn't even bother turning back as, after a furious "Stop! You dirty bastard! We'll have you now!", she heard the familiar jingle of steel being drawn out, singing its battle song. The peaceful night was ruined…

"Aren't you tired yet?" – she sighed and ran, barely touching the ground with her feet, all her attention focused on the balcony with beautiful large decorative vines and ivy, and the closed door. The door was always closed, and the windows were always dark, as long as she remembered, as if this house was left especially for those like her, to disappear among the shadows right under the nose of the city guards.

As she fled the few last steps and grabbed a narrow ledge halfway to the balcony, a sharp pain in her back told her, that her pursuers were throwing rocks, using their last chance to keep her on the ground and fight. She lifted herself and reached up, for the large stone leaf, but, as the second rock bumped straight against her left side, opening the stitched wound and sending a piercing white hot painful impulse, her hand slipped and she fell to the ground, caught off guard. Having no other option, but to take a fight, she turned around, poniard ready in her right hand, and unsheathed her sword with her left one, sensing the first hot rivulets of blood running down her left side. That was rather annoying...

--

As the figure in black lost its balance and fell down, Altaïr no longer doubted that it was the same person he had met the day Muhammed Amir had been killed. He had been wounded, with that arrow sticking from his left side. Judging by the way the man was caught off guard by a simple rock thrown by one of the soldiers, the wound was still there, and the hit was rather painful.

Nevertheless, the tall slender figure took its stance immediately, turning around to meet the pursuers.

Altaïr gasped. He didn't expect to see what had just happened before his eyes. The stranger was going to fight two-handed, a sword in his left hand, and some kind of a dagger in his right. That was amazing... In all his life Altaïr had seen only a very few people who could manage that... In fact, he himself wasn't trained to fight that way, but he still remained the best fighter among the brotherhood even without that. Besides, it didn't matter much, with faithful hidden blade attached to his left forearm.

But this man was also left-handed, for his main weapon, the sword, no doubt was on its place in his left hand... That was even more rare...

He watched as the figure in black whirled, both blades hardly visible in his hands, moving so fast that they merged in one sparkling stream of silver.

"Damn, you are skillful... In what country did you train, I wonder?" Altaïr shook his head, watching in silent amusement...

"And who the hell _are_ you?"

--

The pain disappeared, giving place to fury and excitement of the fight, and she hardly was aware of blood soaking the black silk of her robe.

"Later..."

Her sword met the first soldier half-way, spreading a fountain of blood, deeply plunged into his belly. Yanking hard, she pulled it out and turned to face the second one, sword in his hand already, ready to attack, but so slow, terribly slow… She caught his blade with her own, and plunged her poniard into his neck, finding the unprotected spot of skin right above the large artery, splashing more red blood around. With a gurgling sound escaping from his lips and a surprised look, the soldier went down, to be trampled underfoot by the four remaining swordsmen. As they attacked, she whirled and twisted, her both blades finding their targets, spilling somebody's guts on the ground, producing screams of pain and agony…

And then everything was over.

Six bloody corpses lay on the ground.

She sighed. "Everything always ends up like that... I wonder, who will count them all for me after I die, to make me pay for each life taken…"

Turning away, she noted with disgust, that there was blood on the walls, lots of it… And judging by the distant noise, somebody was already directing that way, attracted by the screams and the sound of fierce fighting.

She bent over the closest dead body and used its undamaged clothing to wipe away the blood and other sticky substance from her blades, sheathed them and turned back to make it to the decorated balcony. However, the sharp pain from the opened wound in her side returned, distracting her. Only when her fingers slipped off from the railing, she noticed that the stone was all covered with sticky cooling blood.

She tried to reach out for some support before completely losing grip, but failed and at that same moment, a strong gauntleted arm caught her wrist, holding her airborne…


	4. 3 Ghosts of the past

**A/N:**

Thank you for your reviews! I'm so warmed by the feeling that some of you find this product of my imagination interesting, as well, as I do… Yay for the readers! :D

Oh my, I'm improving… This is the largest chapter so far… Had a great time writing it… Enjoy!

**Mercy in White**

**Chapter 3 --"Ghosts of the past"--**

_"What the..."_

As she was rather roughly dragged over the railing the least she expected to see was the familiar hidden blade before her face, and a yet even more familiar glare from behind a shadow of the white hood.

"So..."- the assassin snapped - "we meet again, stranger"

She cast a worried glance at the sky, slowly colouring from navy blue to lavender, and winced. Surely, hiding in the city at daylight was more difficult even without the growing pain in her reopened, still bleeding wound. Hiding in plain sight was _his _prerogative...

Speaking of him...

The awakening sunlight stressed those sharp, yet fine, utterly masculine features, though failing to reach beyond the shadow of the deeply pulled hood, leaving the eyes invisible. But a certain familiar feeling told her everything about the coldness and intensity of that gaze behind the menacing blade.

She met the assassin's icy cold glare with her own, snapping back: "What do you want from me?"

The man was still, like a statue of shining white marble, his lips being the only parts alive...

"Information. You seem much more skilful for a common street thief or a murderer. Who the hell are you?"

She nearly laughed at his face, hearing those casual words.

_"Oh, dear, you don't even have a slightest idea..."_

But this man was not the right kind to make fun of. All his essence was radiating danger, and cold-blooded violence, and blood... He was wearing beaming white, and the hilt of his sword in decorated scabbard was golden... He was an assassin of the highest rank, a person that _should _ be taken into consideration...

She tried to find his eyes in the deep shadow, but, of course, failed. It was only early dawn, there was still enough darkness left in the world to conceal what was intended to be concealed...

"I can't tell you much" - she finally said, and, God knew, it was the truth.

She couldn't quite see, but, she'd bet, he raised an eyebrow at that.

"Hmm?" - With that soft inquiring syllable the blade moved a little closer - "I'm sure, you have some interesting facts that you could share... Such as your choice of the city view points, or your perfect leap of faith, or your fighting skills..." - he tilted his head - "Or maybe your connection to the assassination of Muhammed Amir... You see, you don't have much choice, really..."

She sighed. If he only knew, that she wasn't a foe... And had never been...

"I can't tell you my name. In fact I can't tell you anything except for that I'm not your enemy. I mean no harm for your brotherhood..."

The glare became almost _physical_, as if she could sense that cold calculating touch upon her skin.

She heard a quiet growl, that reminded her of a huge predator, hidden, unseen, but no less dangerous, and realized, that it was _him_... He was getting impatient... And she couldn't afford herself another fight. Not with the master assassin. Not with one of the most skilful killers in the Holy Land, even if she could rival him as equal whatever weapon he chose... Not with blood running down from the open wound, and with the necessity to get home before daytime...

The assassin shifted his weight and moved his blade against her neck.

"You tell me, how do you know so much about the brotherhood, or you die. Right now. You don't have any other options" - he hissed, teeth gritted, hidden eyes piercing her.

She tried to look him in the eyes, but failed again. Looking into the deep shadow under the beak of the hood, she reminded herself, that he was not an enemy...

The noise on the nearby street grew louder. The guards or Saracen soldiers were on their way to see what had happened to their less fortunate comrades.

"They'll be here soon. Is taking an unnecessary fight a part of your Creed now?" - she asked and noted his hesitation with a hint of satisfaction. Whatever his intentions regarding her were, he was clever enough to understand, that holding her on that balcony meant being detected for himself as well.

After a brief moment of hesitation the assassin motioned at the roof and moved his blade aside, hissing: "Up", then cast a meaningful look at her and added: "And don't you dare run away. I'm not finished with you yet"

She sighed and scaled up the stone wall. No doubt she wouldn't be able to run away from him easily. The pain slowly grew stronger, and the sky was turning pale pink, reminding her of loosing last minutes of safe way home.

There was no need to turn back to see him following, an unpleasant itch between her shoulderblades assured her of that.

Looking around, she noticed a familiar silhouette of a roof garden nearby. It was a short luck, but there were no other opportunities to take a break.

"Who did this? Where are you, bastard? Show yourself!" - she heard from below, right after she started moving towards the shelter.

The assassin turned out to be rather smart in addition to his perfect physique. He shot a quick nonchalant glance at the angry city guards below and silently followed her, without a single unnecessary movement.

Nothing else mattered, only pulling aside the silk of the curtains, slipping inside the pleasant cool darkness, collapsing on the floor, back against the carved railing, and breathing out. Safe... Just for a few minutes probably, but safe...

The rush was slowly fading away... She wasn't quite enjoying how her mere night walk above the city streets turned into a pursue, then into a fight, and, God knew, seemed like that was only the beginning...

Her deadly noiseless companion slipped inside, setting himself comfortable on the cool stone floor, eyeing her suspiciously. The rooftop outside the curtains was silent, meaning that the guards hadn't seen anything that could hint them. That was good...

Hearing the familiar "clink", she wearily raised her hand before he could move any further and stated: "Leave that for those, who fear you. If you'd intended to kill me, you could've done that already...", then winced at the suddenly intensive strike of throbbing pain in her side, and added: "And if I'd wanted to risk my life chasing each other down the roofs with you, believe me, it would've been hard to miss..."

_"Time's running out, along with my blood..."_

He froze for a moment, listening to the sounds of still sleeping city, then, apparently satisfied with the result, fluently moved beside her, retracting back his blade, though remaining tense as a bowstring, ready to attack...

"He is close... What if he is close enough to find out?"- she thought with unease, looking at the white-clad figure, the lower part of her face tickled by her own breath under the suddenly so tight-fitting black silk... No, that wasn't fear, she had grown up enough for not fearing men with swords, even if they were wearing white robes...

Just...

Never before had anyone discovered her true identity, seen the face of the person in black, flying over rooftops... And she wished it could remain like that... The game was dangerous, but saved her a lot of trouble...

_"I'd love to see your face though, when you discover mine..."_

Despite the pain, she smiled under the safety of black silk.

"We were interrupted..."

His soft voice was so perfectly smooth and quiet... As if designed to merge with the silence...

That was the kind of voice that held the concealed menace whatever words had been spoken by those fine bow-shaped lips.

She finally gave up the idea of getting home before dawn and, with an uneasy sigh, tried to get herself as much comfort as possible before getting out to face the day shift of archers and soldiers. The sharp throbbing in her left side gave place to a dull ache, thin rivulets of blood were still soaking her robe, but that was ok. Nothing that she hadn't got herself familiar with during her missions.

She looked at the assassin, sitting beside her with his back against the pavilion's railing, patiently waiting for her reply... Looking so nonchalant... And so self-confident…

"_Oh, sure, you can look that self-confident, when you have so much deadly power and skill on your side…"_

"Listen, I can't tell you much more than I've already had. I'm not scared by either your blade or your outfit. If you're curious enough to have followed me around the city..."- she stopped, struck with a sudden thought -"... and, come to think of it, even watch me diving from the tower, then I will surely disappoint you by taking all my secrets to my grave, huh? So how exactly are you going to kill me if I don't answer all your questions?"

She guessed that it had struck home, because he gasped and… with a single blink he was beside her, his blade hard against her neck, another hand tightly gripping her collar. First drop of blood oozed from a tiny puncture and began its way down her neck, inside the folds of the black silk…

"If I have to kill you, then I'll probably get rid of a rather successful Templar spy, so I won't have any remorse, be sure" – he growled, his steady breath hot against her ear, tickling, sending an unexpected electrical impulse down her spine…

That was dangerous…

And, for God's sake, that was the most exciting event of the past few weeks…

"_God, he's fast… Must be one of the best of the brethren…"_

She slightly turned her face to meet his gaze, and in the delusive first beams of sunlight saw, that she was being studied by the two pools of dark brown honey, deep and hypnotizing, and filled with hot fury...

_"Caught halfway home, in a roof garden, bleeding, by a master assassin, who turned out to be so God damn handsome, and can't even imagine that I could be a woman... Oh shit..."_

She swallowed and tried to continue, drowning in those honey brown eyes...

"I'm not your enemy. I've been an ally for the brotherhood for a really long time..."

"An ally? Are you an informant?"

"Not only informant... I can do... various tasks..."

She didn't know, where the feeling that she could trust this man had come from... He had a highest rank among the brotherhood, judging by his weaponry and uniform, and by his fluent movements. He was damn well trained. He could not betray the Creed... And he didn't know, that she was a woman. How many reasons to kill her he could have, then?

Besides, bits of truth worked better than a lie...

He seemed interested. The blade slowly retracted, he let go of her collar and leaned back.

"Various? Such as?..." - and finished himself - "... Killing?"

She shrugged. "Well, I can take the job sometimes… When it's too dirty for staining your beaming white reputation… Go on, ask…"

His fine lips curved in a lopsidsed grin, making her smile unconsciously in return.

"Muhammed Amir?"

She nodded meaningfully, catching his gaze

"But how…? We had not announced the white feather for him! We lacked information…"

She smirked.

"Muhammed Amir? He was a rare fucking bastard. You can guess, not only the Hashshashin were interested in his death. Man, he did his living by selling 10 year old boys into slavery, and, by gossips, his own house was full of the poor little ones, molested and violently tortured… I could've killed him by myself, but for the mission…"

His eyes widened, and she felt the silent wall of tension rising once more between them.

"Not only the Hashshashin? Are you saying that you kill for someone else?"

Tilting her head, she smiled under the black mask, and said mockingly:

"You know, it's not polite to ask questions about one's job. I work for different people."

And again she heard it, that quiet growl, that reminded her of the danger, that was within this man, behind his hypnotizing brown eyes and soft voice…

"Maybe, Templars pay you money as well?"

She raised her hand as a sign of peace, a plea for him to calm down.

"No, I have never worked for the Templars. Every bit of the information I get goes to the brotherhood, be sure. If you remember Conrad Redding, de Sable's right hand, for example… The scum was hiding like a rat after Robert's death, changing places every three days… Was damn hard to track him down… Glad that the assassins took his useless life… If you can believe me, of course…" – she looked at him with a challenge in her eyes, satisfied with the surprise on his face.

For a brief moment the cold grey eyes met the furious glare of honey brown… and seemed to cool it down a little bit…

"How come you are trained some certain things that you could see only in Masyaf?" – he changed the topic, giving up the pressure.

She shrugged again, holding back the bitter memories… Guessing if it was right decision to tell him part of the truth…

"I have been training in Masyaf for some time… Many years ago… "

And again she must've caught him by surprise. Sure… The brotherhood had no way out… Either death on a mission, or death sentence for the traitors… It was even harder than she thought… To recall everything…

"Then why…" – and he stopped, fixing his eyes of liquid gold on her face, examining, trying not to miss a slightest hint she might give…

"Why am I not beside you, wearing the same white hood and golden sword? Right?" – she asked bitterly, and, seeing his confusion, showed him both her hands, unarmed, with all fingers present… - "I'm not a traitor, if that's what you're thinking about. Never was." – a sigh escaped her lips, then, as she continued – "As you see, I didn't get an initiation even…"

He stared at her, disbelieving, confused…

"But… why?…"

"I had some… issues… with Al Mualim… Had to leave… But never lost contact completely… It's a pity though, that he turned out to be…"

She opened her mouth, but suddenly froze, as a haphazard sunbeam lighted the face of the assassin, again attracting her attention to the lower part of his face, the strong line of lower jaw, covered with light stubble, the bow-shaped lips… and a thin scar, crossing them on the right side, from the fine straight nose down to the chin…

There definitely couldn't be _another_ man with the same scar…

Gasping for air, she tentatively reached out her left hand and traced that scar with her fingertips, taking him by surprise, stung by the electricity that spread quickly over her hand to her upper body and ran down her spine, leaving her breathless…

At that moment she didn't care about the various blades he could stab her with, for that one brief moment of breaking into his private space, or even about the confusion this act might bring, because she still was a _God damn male_ for him…

"_The… flying one…"_ – those long forgotten words ran though her head, as the same sounds escaped her lips against her will…

--

**A/N:**

A cliffhanger, huh? (evil grin)

Honestly, I wanted to put a whole talk into one chapter, but it grew larger, and larger, and finally I decided to leave you with this for a while and not to torture you with waiting for another couple of weeks.

The story writes itself. She shouldn't have said it out loud, believe me! What is she going to do with that now? How is she supposed to explain that? I don't know for now… Seriously… )

Hope you like it so far. Please leave a note, if you do :)

To be continued…


	5. 4 Uneasy thoughts&longawaited decisions

**A/N: **Wow. I've done that, at last. Don't kick me, please, I know that the title is way too long! But… It just came to my mind like that, in one phrase.

As usual, thanks for your patient waiting. **MusicalSoul**, thanks for your kind words! You inspire me! :)

Enjoy!

**Mercy in White**

**Chapter ****4**** --"Uneasy thoughts and long-awaited decisions"--**

"_The… flying one…"_

Her lips had betrayed her, and she cursed herself and her damned destiny and everything that could have made that possible, meeting that man in such inappropriate, inconvenient moment, as she watched his honey brown eyes widen, surprised, shocked...

_"Oh, sure, you can seldom be taken by surprise, like this..."_

But it was just a second, no, even less... Just a brief moment between two heartbeats, a moment of confusion and shock, on both sides...

But they both were so terribly skilful, so damn fast...

Staring in those surprised brown eyes, she blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, the scene had already changed.

His hidden blade was pressed against the tender flesh under her lower jaw, his other hand was gripping the left side of her face, tightly, holding her for the last deadly blow.

No more gentle hints and half-truth. His intentions were easy to guess, his face being quite readable at that moment. All his incredible speed and skill served him for one purpose.

He was ready to kill her.

For touching his face.

For knowing his name, when he still knew almost nothing about her.

But she could rival him as equal in both speed and strength, and at that same time her right hand was holding his left wrist in an iron grip, gaining her few saving millimeters, as the tip of the poniard in her left one was pressed under his chin.

A stalemate.

Studying those dark gold eyes, searching for the trace of a human behind those deadly blades and the shadow of the white hood, she gently asked, not even hoping, that he would obey:

"Let me go..."

He growled, and moved fluently, and twisted his left wrist out of her grip, getting up, taking her with him, and the next moment he was already standing in front of her in his incredibly beautiful stance, with his silver-decorated scimitar in his right hand, swaying on the level of her eyes, gracious, deadly...

"Who the hell are you?" - she heard in that growl, and there he went again, moving like the quicksilver, attacking her like a bird of prey that gave him his name...

Only to be met halfway by her sword, her faithful long blade, that held the pressure of the attack of the master assassin, and pressed him back.

Stepping sideways, watching his eyes, she tried again:

"Let me go… Please…"

And, diving under his arm, twisting, jumping aside, escaping his attack, holding back her blade _not to hurt him_ as long as possible, she added:

"I won't tell you anything more. But I won't let you kill me either."

He didn't deign to answer her. Probably, he didn't intend to kill her anymore, after the fury had given place to cold intelligent calculation… Only to strip down her face mask and see the face of so-much-knowing stranger in black, who had dared to distract him with smooth talk and touch him…

Probably, he even wanted to take her to Masyaf alive, to ask the current Master if she had told the truth about her training there…

"_The current Master? Who could that be? I thought that after he had saved the remains of the brotherhood…"_

Answering her thoughts, the assassin attacked again, this time trying to press her against the wall of the pavilion, gripping her sleeve with his free left hand…

"_No-no-no, I can't let you do that… Not now… Oh hell, not EVER…"_

And she dove again, trying to set herself free from that impossible man, feeling his scimitar slicing open her right upper arm somewhen during the fight. Pushing his hands away, slipping on her own fresh blood on the stone floor, she flew on the carved pavilion railing and, turning back to face him, gasped:

"Don't look for me, please. If God decides so, we'll meet again. I'm not your enemy, remember that"

And she jumped outside, into the heat of the Damascus daylight, not caring about the guards and archers, waiting in the city, her fury giving her strength to fight them all...

--

To say that he was surprised was to say nothing. Altaïr was shocked. With all his experience, he couldn't have imagined a situation like that.

Slipping on the fresh crimson blood on the stone floor, he reached for the silk curtain, pulled it aside and looked out, to see the black flash at the edge of the roof. The figure jumped across the narrow passage between two buildings and disappeared amongthe statues of the rich households.

And he was left to his own thoughts, alone again, and even more confused than before that brief encounter. This event had left his questions unanswered, and added even more to them.

Why hadn't he followed the stranger? It would be easy, since he was wounded...

Altaïr absently wiped his scimitar with the silk of the curtain and stared at the crimson stains.

He had asked not to follow him... He was as much shocked and confused, as Altaïr himself.

But why?

If what he had said was true, and he was really trained as a novice some years ago, then they obviously could have known each other.

But why was he so shocked?

And then, that crap with Altaïr's scar...

_"He was not surprised by seeing a master assassin, he was surprised to see me in particular... As if he didn't expect it to be me..."_

Altaïr quickly tried to recall any accidents during him being a novice, then a young assassin... Any possible misunderstandings, grudges, fights...

Thanks to him being self-righteous ignorant bastard most of the time, that happened a lot, and it was useless to remember every conflict... He couldn't recall all names even, but sure, they _did _remember him...

But then, almost all novices he knew either passed their initiation and eventually survived until the final battle, showing either loyalty for him or dying for Al Mualim... Or passed the initiation, but died during their missions, sacrificing themselves for the idea of purifying the world by eradicatingcorrupt and mean people...

But those were not the ones he needed to pay attention to at that moment...

Those, who didn't get an initiation together with the white hood of an assassin and the hidden blade, usually stayed at the fortress as simple peasants... Of course, there always were bold and proud ones, who dared leaving the Order, though he hadn't heard much about them...

_"Damn!"_

He clenched his fists, furiously glaring at the clear deep blue abyss of the Damascus sky. That was useless. He couldn't find a trace of that man.

Only maybe...

_"What did he say? He had never lost contact completely... And he almost finished his thought about Al Mualim turning out to be... What? The Templar? That's impossible... How could he find that out? Who are his contacts inside the brotherhood? What rank can they have? Oh..."_

Altaïr wearily closed his eyes, rubbing the eyelids with his fingers. Another sleepless night, followed by yet another complicated day...

He finally made his way out of the roof garden and turned towards the direction of the nearest city gates. He had stayed too long in this city, longer than necessary... And the only person probably able to help him with his questions was Malik, his loyal and reliable Master, already waiting for his report... He just _had_ to know something...

Altaïr cast a final glance at the carved pavilion, wondering, if everything that had happened there was just a mere dream, and sighed...

_"If God decides so, we'll meet again"_

Repeating those words in his mind over and over again, he started his long run towards the Kingdom...

--

She wasn't sure at which moment exactly did she turn her way, and headed towards the city gates instead of her own household, being already visible among its less decorated surroundings.

She was angry. Furious.

Mostly, at herself.

At her lips that had betrayed her, saying that long-forgotten name against her will. At her own carelessness and curiosity that had obscured her logic, letting her join that stupid talk… How romantic… Ghosts of the forgotten past were talking to her… Why not accept the invitation?

She snorted.

She was angry at her stupid night-loving nature of a stargazer that had made her sneak out of her own house on such a terrible night, a night that most of the honest citizens had spent at home…

And then, at that damned, damned man in white attire, the angel of death, the living embodiment of cruel mercy…

She had spent many nights and days in faraway land, trying to forget them… The atmosphere, the elegance of their movements on the ring, the proud white of their clothes… She came back and went away again, thousands of times, but his enormous reputation always reached her ears wherever she was. First the angry hisses of the humiliated and offended, then – the ecstatic praises of those, who had survived… Words about his glory spread fast, and wide…

She helped as much as she could. Never mentioned his name when asked, and openly doubted the gossips about his origin and his identity. After all, he himself would never want such popularity for himself and his name. At least, that was the image of the man she had been proud to know long ago…

She never planned to see him again. She always worked alone, and though being a faithful ally for the brotherhood, let only one man know about her much enough to call her by name…

And then, she returned to her rich house in Damascus, refreshed her relations, looked around, took a few minor missions… And there he was… Reviving all her forgotten, bitter memories in one breath…

"_What the hell am I doing here?"_

Her wounded upper arm was securely bandaged by stripes of black silk torn from her robe, her side carefully inspected, but that didn't help much. She already felt the familiar dizziness that usually followed blood loss and intensive pain. Light-headed and already clumsy, she was an easy target for the armed men on the roofs and the streets. But still, she turned in her tracks, and headed the opposite direction, and there they were, those magnificent ornate iron gates, the perfect image of strength and defense for the innocent city-dwellers.

She knew the man _he_ would seek answers from… It was extremely stupid, but she wanted to prove herself right.

She sneaked across the shadowed alley, joined the group of suspicious-looking men, dressed in rags of different colors, and reached the complex construction of wooden beams, probably left by the repairmen of some rich noble merchant, but successfully serving people like her as a quiet and safe way out of the city. Climbing up, she swayed, as a sudden strike of pain had interrupted her thoughts.

How stupid…

Gritting her teeth, fighting the sharp pain in her upper arm and the dull throbbing in her left side, feeling hot blood soaking her robe, she climbed to the top, then jumped between the thin wooden beams, again, and again, carefully looking for a place to step on, observing the city guards, quite busy with the usual crowd of ragged beggars, and suspicious-looking armed men trying to sneak past the gates into the city.

One more jump, and she was outside, under the city wall, breathless and light-headed, waiting...

The sun was high by then, and its heat was pressing down on her like a thick hot curtain, making her sweat under her black silk garment, and hiss from pain, as the sweat mixed with blood in the wounds and stung terribly, and curse herself.

And then, already carefully hidden in the shadow of the stone wall, behind some forgotten wagon, she saw him, and smiled despite the pain and the dizziness, and weary, because she was right.

Yes, it really was him. Intelligent and curious. Always full of questions. Always ready for another philosophical dispute.

He couldn't let her go without thorough thinking.

He couldn't simply forget that encounter.

He was going to ask someone about her…

A _certain_ someone…

--

With an uneasy sigh Altaïr gripped his reins and turned his back to the city walls. He knew that he was being watched.

He felt that.

"_To hell with you, black-clad bastard! Watch. Watch as I go home to find out who the hell you are. Believe me, I'll do that, whatever it takes!"_

Not quite sure, why he felt so angry, Altaïr yanked the reins, setting the canter rhythm for his horse, and headed towards the road to the Kingdom, still deeply in his thoughts.

--

She smiled again, watching him pulling the reins and turning towards the road to the Kingdom.

"_I know you felt that I was watching you."_

Standing there, sweating and swaying, watching him leave, she suddenly thought, that all decisions had already been made. That was surprising, and stupid…

But so desirable…

And she had no other choices left, tired of doing only what was necessary and safe for the whole of her life…

"_I'll give you a day of advantage, Alta__ï__r. Only one day. Take the opportunity."_

And, using the remains of her strength to climb the wooden beams once more, and jump over the heads of the guarded men in the gates, she finally headed home, to take care of her wounds and think everything over…

--

**A/N: **Like? Hate? Drop a note! :)


	6. 5 Surprises

**A/N: **I'm writing this with a bottle of beer (err… second one, if matters :), and, though I have a straight plotline in my head, I don't know where these talented talkative scary guys in white can lead me :)

Great thanks and a BIG hug to everyone who reads this! Thank you for your support and patience! Hope you're still there, and this piece will cheer you up!

Enjoy!

**Mercy in White**

**Chapter ****5**** --"****Surprises****"--**

The sun was still high by the time the high gates of the village came in sight after the road had made its last turn. Opened, but heavily guarded by six armed, dangerous-looking men. The closest one caught Altaïr's look and slightly nodded, trying to show both recognition and respect, but not to be too noticeable at the same time.

Altaïr nodded in return and passed the gates, to dismount a few minutes later at the small stable near the high outer wall. He didn't want to draw unnecessary attention by riding through the village. That would be rather stupid...

That would be so much like him, a few years prior to that remarkable summer of the year 1191...

Altaïr shook his head, trying to get rid of the bitter memories that returned often enough to haunt him. That was not an easy thing, standing there, at the entrance of the village, just like then, in that September, when he rushed in, furious, eager to seek all answers he had been denied, to find justice... But instead finding only betrayal, one after another and the feeling of guilt, and shame, bitter as bile...

Today he was almost as furious and eager to find out the truth. The long way through the Kingdom was not so easy. The number of Saracen patrols was increased, and they were more suspicious than ever. A few fights on the way to Masyaf had completely exhausted him, adding even more to his rage.

Something was up...

With a sigh, trying to shake off his weariness and almost irresistible urge for a proper rest after two days without sleep, Altaïr started walking towards the stronghold as fast as possible without drawing attention.

--

"Where the hell is he?" - Altaïr growled, briefly registering the terror in the younger Brother's eyes. He had certainly told everything he knew, and didn't know what else to do with the furious master assassin yelling at him. On any other day Altaїr could even have found that amusing.

But not now...

"He has left his chamber in the morning, Brother. He didn't tell me where we can find him. Have you tried looking..."

"I have _damn_ tried looking everywhere!" - Altaїr was close to the point of losing control. That would be such a shame, but how could he not? A mission two weeks long, then that damned bastard in black messing up with him, two sleepless nights, one of them - in saddle, escaping the Saracen patrols and, when not so lucky - fighting them... And he had finally reached Masyaf to learn that a person he laid so much hopes on was nowhere to be found?

Altaїr opened his mouth again, but the clear voice from behind stopped another torrent of complaints, ready to escape his lips.

"Safety and peace, Altaїr. Glad you're back. I guess, it was me you were looking for?"

The younger assassin retreated with a sigh of relief.

Altaїr turned back, ready to swear, but a careful glance at the stone balustrade told him they were not alone. Swallowing back all his sarcastic comments, he slightly bowed.

"Safety and peace, Master. Yes, I've been looking for you."

And, glaring at Malik from under the safe shadow of his white hood, watching the wicked sparkles in those dark eyes, he hoped that the additional "Where the hell have you been?" could be easily read on his face.

Suppressing the grin, Malik nodded and motioned at the iron doors leading to his chamber.

"Come, then. I've been looking forward to your report. I'll make orders about the dinner and the hot bath"

--

An hour later, after discussing the subject of his assassination and his numerous connections with the Templars and Christian spies, Altaїr decided that he had paid enough respect to the Hashshashin subordination. He couldn't wait any longer. Chewing the last bits of his meal, extremely hot and delicious after two days of dried meat, apples and water, he thought about the proper beginning.

"Hmm… Malik… A strange thing has happened to me in Damascus…"

Malik raised his eyebrow and motioned to continue. It wasn't often when a master of such high rank as Altaїr was surprised or puzzled by something.  
Altaїr sighed, preparing to present that stupid situation in a more or less proper way.

"It all started the day Muhammed Amir had been assassinated. You must've already heard about it."

Malik winced at the word "assassinated", it was too evident. Of course, such nasty surprise... Just a few days before the Brotherhood completed the investigation... He was satisfied, that he could help Master finding out the person behind this murder at least with those bits of information, though it was almost nothing...

"I was observing the disposition of the city guards on the square next to the cloth market, and their patrolling march route, when I heard the bells ringing and the shouts "Assassin! Assassin!". I thought that was rather strange, to say the least, because as far as I knew, I was the only one of the Creed on a mission in Damascus, and I haven't attracted any unnecessary attention... "

He shrugged, and continued:

"Then I thought that it would probably be the best to get away from the plain sight and watch the development of the situation, found a stack of hay in a nearby alley and hid there…" – and, seeing the approval on Malik's face, he went on to the most interesting part of his story.

"And then… Well, I didn't think it could be possible before I have witnessed it myself… Another person jumped in the stack to hide!"

Malik choked with the wine he had been sipping during their talk and stared at his Brother, disbelieving.

"What?"

Altaïr felt even more embarrassed than before… It didn't sound so much stupid when he was thinking the whole idea over during his long journey to Masyaf. He thought that it was important, that it would help the Brotherhood... And he was so eager to find out something about that mysterious man in black…

And now he was sitting before his Master, the person he valued and trusted the most, sleepy and tired, and feeling like a complete idiot… He sighed again, tried to shake off his weariness a bit, and, seeing Malik's impatience, continued again.

"Well, I was surprised! After a brief conversation I found out, that this man was hiding from the city guards, who were chasing him in particular, calling him the "assassin". Unfortunately, I didn't pay much attention to that, and, after the alarm bells stopped ringing and the way was clear, I got out of the hay and prepared to leave. Now I see, that it was a mistake, that I could've made that bastard talk then, in that alley…"

Malik put his glass with wine aside and moved forward, his face showing the ultimate and total interest.

"Bastard? Brother, when I first saw you today, I thought that the reasons of your bad mood were just the long way home in the saddle and my absence… But now I see… There is something about this man that enrages you… You see, it's not a common fact, of course, but it's rather logical for a criminal of some sort to hide from the guards… And the forgotten stack of hay is a rather desirable shelter from a stranger's eye. Don't you think so?"

Altaïr quickly nodded, too anxious to continue.

"Yes, but… You see…" – he swallowed…

"_Oh, damn you! You make me feel like a young clumsy novice! Just wait till I find out…"_

"You see, I met him once more, a few days later. After I had discovered that the reason for the alarm bells was the death of Muhammed Amir. It was the evening I initially planned to head back to Masyaf, but the heavy storm made me stay at home. Actually, I had a good horse, and plenty of food to take… Rafik is showing the miracles of hospitality these days, by the way! He gave me food from their supply, a horse… And, after I decided to stay at the Bureau rather than soaking to my undergarments, even provided me with a blanket and cushions…"

Feeling his lips curve in a wicked grin, and seeing the very same expression on Malik's face, Altaïr felt encouraged.

"So, I decided to stay in Damascus, but I felt like going for a little walk under the rain… Don't stare at me! I know it was inconsequent! But… Oh… If you could see that night… See those deserted streets…"

Malik chuckled and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Romantic, aren't we?" – and, after another thoughtful look, grinned again – "But not enough romantic to enjoy the delights of making fire under the soaking rain and spending such beautiful night on horseback?"

Roaring like a wounded beast, Altaïr stood up, and already opened his mouth for a proper sarcastic reply, but saw his Master raising his only hand in a sign of apology. That had stopped him.

Malik's severe injury was always there to remind him of the person he used to be a few years ago... Young, stubborn, ignorant, self-righteous... Skilled, smart, but so stupid and blind to such common things... It was like a sharp blade disturbing an old wound, again, and again... He had no right to offend this man any more than had already been done. The only thing he could do was to become his faithful blade,instead of the one Malik had lost the ability to wear.

He swallowed back his nasty comments, and sat back again, taking a swig from his glass of wine.

"Forgive me, Brother, please. That sounded so amusing, I couldn't help myself... See, I can rarely see this side of you, so it was kind of... Unexpected... Please, do continue. I guess, there is some serious reason for you to tell me about your walk under the rain?" - heard Altaïr, returning back to their talk from the depth of his unpleasant memories. He nodded.

"Yes. I met him again that night. Saw him swan diving from one of the watch towers near the rich district, and decided to follow him. It looked very much like the leap of faith, you know... That got me suspicious..."

Seeing Malik's surprised face brought all his uneasiness back. If he was so surprised, then, probably, he couldn't tell Altaïr anything new... That would be sad...

"But it's only the beginning! I followed him through the streets to a dead end, where he was forced to take a fight with the guards and Saracen soldiers. Brother, he fought like devil himself! That was amazing! It's so rare among our swordsmen, to fight two-handed..."

"Two handed?"- Malik raised his eyes, a strange expression appearing on his face. He opened his mouth, but said nothing, only motioned to continue.

"Yes, with a sword and a short blade, some sort of a dagger... And, by the way, he held the sword in his left hand! And after he had killed all of them, and that made up six armed men, he tried to flee... But I caught the bloody bastard! And, thus, I've reached the most interesting part of my story. Malik, are you listening? We had such captivating talk!..."

Somewhen during Altaïr's emotional monologue, probably just after his incidental "he held the sword in his left hand!", Malik couldn't help any longer, stood up from his cozy armchair and walked to the window. Looking outside, at the legendary Garden of Paradise, the place of the most significant victory in their lives, and also the most bitter disappointment, being sure that nobody could see his face, Malik gave way to his feelings...

_"So, you're back..."_

"... And, after that, can you imagine, what this whoreson did? He touched my face! Well, to be exact, my scar. And said my name! You see, he knows me! Though I don't have a slightest idea about him... I believe, he didn't intend to say it out loud, he kind of... Lost control..."

Malik snorted, though the reason of his reaction was evident only to himself.

_"Lost control... Of course, having already forgotten you and meeting again..."_

And only then did he truly understand the meaning of his Brother's story. Altaïr mentioned a "he". From the beginning, only a mysterious "he"...

And that was a good excuse for another snort.

_"So, your camouflage still works perfectly... Oh my, I can imagine his face, if he meets you without your mask..."_

"...So, you see, he seems to be pretty well aware of the Brotherhood's affairs, and even claims to be an ally, an informant, and hell knows who else... I came to a conclusion... Malik, were you listening? Do you know this person?"

Malik turned from the window to see the face of his Brother. Looking into his eyes, the eyes of a most faithful and noble man he had ever known, he couldn't lie. He sighed, hiding his emotions...

_"I can do only one little favor for you, Mistress Of the Night..."_

"Yes, I know the person you were speaking about..."

--

Altaïr fell his mouth open wide.Just like that? So easily?

Seeing his confusion,Malik smiled and continued:

"Though I'm as much surprised, as you, because I haven't heard anything about... Uhm... Him... For a rather long time... You don't have to worry. He is really faithful to the Brotherhood, as he has told you. He has helped us through many years."

Altaïr shook his head. That was too much...

"How come I didn't know anything? And, what's even more important, how come _he _knows so much? You are the person, who gives him..."

"Stop, please, before you insult me" - Malik interrupted him - "He knows much about the Order, about Al Mualim, but we can trust him, believe me. Can you trust _me_? There are certain reasons that his identity and whole his existence are held in secret. Even from you, I'm sorry... Hm... Though you do know him, that's really true. We've been training together for some time, though he is slightly older, so it was rather brief experience."

"But why do _you_ know so much? As far as I remember, Al Mualim had never considered you as his successor..."

Malik smiled.

"Would you believe me if I say it was a pure accident? I overheard a talk once, between Al Mualim and our mysterious ally, a young novice then. I wasn't hiding or anything... Just working with books in the library... Ahyway, they saw me, and knew that I had heard them. And then, sometime later, I was asked to assist him on a rather difficult mission, because I already knew something and it was convenient. Believe me, there _are _reasons for such secrecy. If the Templars find out, that we have contacts with this man, especially after he helped us so much by providing the disinformation about the Piece of Eden in certain circles..."

Altaïr thought his ears had just betrayed him. How else could he explain the things he had just heard?

"What? He knows about the Piece of Eden? Are you nuts? How could you..."

And once again did Malik raise his hand. And once again did Altaïr stop, with his mouth open.

"Have you heard me, Brother?" - Asked Malik quietly - "If not, then hear it again, please, and get me right. He has helped us _damn_ big deal by providing the disinformation about the destiny of the Piece of Eden. That has provided us some peaceso far. I'm sorry. I can't tell you much, because I don't know much about him myself..."

Altaïr swallowed.

"How do you contact him,... Master?"

_"That's it... You've taken offense..."_

"There are several public places in Jerusalem and Damascus, where we can leave a word for him. And, though it's very seldom, he can come here..."

Raising an eyebrow, Altaïr glared at his Brother.

"Here? Unnoticed? Who is he, a ghost?"

Malik smiled. That was exactly what he had asked when learned that from Al Mualim.

"No, Brother. He is a human, like you and me. He's just amazingly skilful."

"Does this human have a name?" - asked Altaïr at last, and, watching Malik's face change, grew suspicious. Could his Brother keep something back?

No, that was impossible…

--

"_I wish I didn't have to lie to you, Brother… I wish I never had to answer to this question…"_

And it was even more painful, than he had expected, seeing the suspicion slowly building itself in the eyes of the man he trusted the most…

"I'm sorry, Altaïr. Even I don't know his real name. He has dozens of them. The latest one was Farid. I told you, there are certain public places…" – And, with a silent plea in his eyes, he added – "You are the closest person to me, Brother. Please, trust me. This man is not a traitor. And neither am I."

Altaïr gazed at his Master. Then, apparently after coming to terms with his own thoughts, nodded and sighed.

"I understand, Master. It's a pity I didn't have chance to ask him some more questions…"

"_Oh, believe me, if I know her well enough, you'll soon meet your mysterious stranger in black…" _– smiled Malik, thinking to himself.

"Now, will you excuse me? If I'm not mistaken, a hot bath is waiting for me?"

Malik laughed, partly with relief that this uneasy talk was over, at least temporarily. Yes, Altaïr had deserved a good bath, and not only that.

"Yes, Brother, and a proper rest will be your reward for your excellent work. Thank you. Safety and peace."

And, seeing the hooded figure in white leave, he returned to his own thoughts, trying to deal with his suddenly so overwhelming memories…

--

That evening he left the large ornate doors, leading to his chambers, unlocked and dismissed the most eager guards in that wing of the stronghold. That would be enough, in case…

"_Ah, what beautiful, peaceful night…" _

The Eagle's Nest was silent, with most part of its deadly inhabitants asleep. He was enjoying the warm breath of summer breeze playing with his hair, caressing his face.

He was waiting…

And there it was, at last… The light rustle of soft leather boots on the stone floor of the balcony, audible only for his trained ears, telling him everything about the skill of his visitor…

He didn't turn back, he was savoring the moment…

And then he felt the hot breath against the back of his neck, raising goose bumps all over his body, and that familiar velvet voice he had no hopes to hear again said from behind:

"Safety and peace, Malik A Sayf… It was a long journey…"


	7. 6 Good news, bad news

**A/N: **I know just every word you would probably wish to say to me. It was inexcusable to leave this piece of fiction for such a long time! Believe me – I do feel guilty about that! But, as was mentioned earlier, I've got a little son (he's 1 year old by now:), and a little free time :) Lots of things have claimed my attention recently, but I never EVER forgot this story. It's always on my mind.

So. I'm back, and so is the MiW :D I'd appreciate a word or two from those of you, who stayed faithful to me, patiently waiting for the continuation. Just… it would be nice to know, that you guys are there, and still read it. I did my best while writing this chapter. Had a great time, actually. Hope you'll like it. Promise not to disappear again! I'm full of inspiration now :D

**Warning: major game spoilers!**

**Mercy in White**

**Chapter 6 -----"Good news, bad news"-----**

"_Safety and peace, Malik A Sayf… It was a long journey…"_

He felt as if some heavy weight that had been on his shoulders for a few years just vanished with the sound of that velvet voice from behind his back. His most desperate hopes came true.

She _was_ alive.

Not able to resist any longer, he turned back to meet the piercing gaze of steel-colored eyes, and held his breath for a couple of heartbeats.

"How have you been?" - they whispered in unison, and then, hearing his question, she laughed softly, ruining the moment.

"I see... - she said with a slight amuse in her tone, eyeing his face suspiciously - my legend has been _much _better this time..."

"I thought you were really dead... _This _time..."- he breathed out, trying to make her hear the accusation.

She shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Malik. I could not let you know that I had escaped. You of all people should have known the best, how much was at stake..."

He nodded, trying to takehis emotions under control. As soon as it was easier for him to look calmly at her face, already free from the black mask, he immediately noticed the paleness, unusual even for her cream-colored skin, and an unhealthy redness in her cheeks.

"Are you..." - he began, but suddenly saw a grimace of pain changingthe familiar fine features of her face, as she shifted the weight from one leg to another.

"... wounded!"- he gasped and reached out his arm to touch her, to do anything to make this incredible, impossible evening last a little longer, as if the slender figure in black could disappear each time he closed his eyes to blink.

She smiled wearily and touched his hand with her slim fingers. Malik felt the heat, radiating from her skin, even through the thin silk of her glove, but before he could say a single word, she pulled him across the balcony, towards the pile of pillows on the stone floor.

"They look good enough for me. Come on. I've come a long way here, I haven't seen you for ages... I want to talk to you! That... That can wait... Besides..." - she winked - "I've got something to tell you..."

Malik sighed and gave up. He had definitely noticed the clumsiness in her movements, as she sat down and made herself comfortable, and a quiet sigh of relief, but that was not a subject for discussion.

That was her. Yes.

Only one woman of all the rest that Malik knew could make you feel guilty and ashamed of trying to be a man in her presence while actually being less strong and fast than her.

"Wine?"

She chuckled and looked at him with gratitude.

"So, you still do those little things, illegal for every honest Muslim, but not quite illegal for you? It's so good to hear that! Yes, please. I'd enjoy that."

"Oh, come on, don't provokeme! I can't see the point in denying myself a little pleasure like this, you know that. Besides, we don't have a religion, so, it's not quite right to call me an honest Muslim" - Malik smiled with his back turned to her, glass in his hand already.

"You_ do_ have a religion, and you_ do_ _know _that" - she retorted - "Besides, it sounds so exciting to me... To be involved in the intrigues of the Muslims, eternal opponents of the Christianity, conspiring against the Lion, and the Temple, and your own king... Much more exciting than just supporting a group of atheistic fanatics, whose only religion is the art of the murder... "

"We don't have a king! And..."

She took the glass with a wicked grin and interrupted Malik's emotional outburst.

"I know. I am sorry. So much time has passed since we talked the last time... I can't behave myself. But, I've really got something interesting to tell you..."

Malik decided he could save the time.

"Oh, Altaïr came back yesterday. He has told me everything about you running across him."

"He's being predictable. That's not what I wanted to tell you in the first place, though."

That was amusing.

_"Predictable?"_

"So, you did that on purpose, then? Knowing, that he would come to me to seek answers?"

She froze in astonishment, her glass in her hand, halfway to her lips.

"What? Who do you think I... Are you..." - she swallowed, put the glass down, and began again - "Of course, not! Honestly, of all the people in Damascus, on the streets, above and under them, he was the least expected man for me... It's just..." - she sighed - "Not that I expected that he would disappear somehow... I knew that I would meet him when I decided to go back to the Holy Land... Just... Not so soon, maybe..."

It was hard for Malik to watch her like that. To see, how hard it was for her to speak about Altaïr... To watch the expressions on her face shift from weariness to frustration, then to pain, and then - again to weariness. She had wounds, probably more than one, probably infected, judging by the fever he felt...

And yet - there she was, sitting beside him, absently nibbling at a piece of juicy pear, with some news for him, more important than her condition.

"Forget about him. You said that you've got some news..."

And again he saw gratitude in her steel-grey, weary eyes, as she patted his hand softly, burning him with her feverish touch.

"You're not going to like it, but it's extremely important" - and, after a quiet sigh, she added - "And it's going to be a long story..."

-----

It was not quite that he felt haunted by memories, even some particular ones... He could never call himself an impressive, emotional man, though he was a hell of emotional if next to that stone bastard, who didn't have much care for anyone, that was for sure.

He had long forgotten the nightmares with mutilated, sometimes decapitated, corpses, lying alone, sometimes in heaps, on the ground, sometimes grass, sometimes stone, covered in crimson sticky substance, sometimes still warm... That kind of things was unavoidable. That was his job. One of the best things he could do. His conscience, buried under the heaps of those lifeless corpses,had come back to life once again, the first time after his initiation, a few years ago, that autumn of 1191, when everything had turned upside down for him and some of his most faithful allies. That was even worse than he could've expected. Deception, foul play, betrayal… He'd thought he'd seen it all by then… But still, it struck him just as hard as it could, and the only strength he could find to bring together the shattered pieces of once proud and unshakable Creed was given to him by those few people who had made it through that hell with him, and seen just the same things as he did, and stayed by his side. Those were hard times, but they had changed even more than could seem at first sight.

For instance, he'd never thought he could ever overcome those overwhelming feelings of hatred, and anger, and his desire for revenge on a person responsible for his brother's death and his transformation into a cripple. He'd never thought that he would ever be able to look at this man again without thinking about tearing his beating heart from his white-clad chest and watch him suffer just as he himself had suffered without Kadar. As much as he was surprised by his extremely violent fantasies, no less was he surprised when the red veil before his eyes had disappeared and he was able to see that the real Altaïr had suffered just as hard through all that time. It felt like a breath of fresh air, to discover the true friendship after losing any hope Malik had.

So, feeling complete again, with things in Brotherhood running more or less successfully, the least thing Malik had expected was another flash-back of forgotten memories, more pleasant this time, but no less bitter.

He silently watched her face as she spoke unpleasant things to him, things about the unfaithfulness of their allies among the people of the English King, about the well-laid secret plans that could make his hair stand on end, things that promised a new round of war to them, just after regaining some peace… Her face certainly had a new layer of hardness and weariness lying over its fine features. A crease between her brows never seemed to relax, indicating just how much had she undertaken this time, bringing him those urgent news, setting her feet on Holy Land again.

Those eyesthe color of cloudy sky were red-rimmed now, and Malik didn't want to know how many sleepless hours exactly did it take her to make it to Masyaf with the news. He doubted it was worthy of that price, watching her flinch now and then, just like every other human in pain would.

He was there. He heard every word and some part of his mind already stirred, combining the knowledge from different sources, trying to work out a strategy, a plan to deal with the new problem.

Sadly, but the Brotherhood would need her, in the light of the discovered facts. She was one of those few, who knew about the existence of the damned Piece of Eden… And one of those even less few, who were aware, that the artifact had not been destroyed after the death of Al Mualim and re-establishment of the Order, as was known from a thoroughly planned information leak.

His scanning gaze returned to her eyes, as he remembered for a brief moment, how those eyes looked like when there was no misery to cloud them.

Why did it always have to be so complicated? Even he knew nothing about that woman except for what she herself was willing to let him know. And that equaled to almost nothing.

Even though she had let him as close as to share the bed with her for what seemed like centuries ago, she was still a mystery. She would come and go when she wished, helpful, needed, and only God knew, if he really existed, where she spent her time when she was nowhere to be found, and what her real name was, for he long ago began suspecting that the one he knew could be as fake as the others.

The woman in question rubbed her eyelids, her other hand absently toying with the edge of her silk robe, and looked at Malik.

"I think, you'll need me with that. This was not the main reason I came to the Holy Land, things have changed considerably during the past couple of weeks… But I would be willing to help…"

Malik shrugged, trying to cover his uneasiness at the thought of her in the middle of the conflict between the French and English armies, the Templar knights, and Saracen soldiers.

"I think, the situation is becoming serious…"

She snorted: "_I_ think we're all soon going to be knee-deep in shit, stinking honest shit! And your good manners are just so irritating sometimes!"

He couldn't help laughing with her, relieved, that she was not that bad after all, if she had strength enough for her dry humor.

"So nice to see you back" – he responded sarcastically – "I've missed your low-class vocabulary, you know…"

Her smile faded, as a new strike of pain caught her off guard. Clenching her teeth, she held out a hand for him, and breathed out: "Now, would you mind helping me up? It's certainly a lovely place, but I'd prefer to have a rest under the roof, for variety's sake…"

Malik rushed to help her, his laughter washed away by the wave of concern for the wounded woman beside him.

It was worse than he had imagined at first sight, because he almost carried her all the way across the balcony to his bedroom. She would never ask for this much of a help, if she could walk herself.

Having her settled on the bed, he turned for his shelf with medicines and stripes of clean linen, picked up a couple of vials and a handful of cloth, and said with his back to her: "I'll go fetch some hot water. Be back in a minute. Ok with that?"

She mumbled something into a pillow, lying exactly how he'd left her.

"What?" – he asked, coming closer, putting all the stuff to the bed beside her.

"I said," – she lifted her head with visible effort – "I think I'm not going to last long. Was a hell of exhausting journey up to here… Can this wait until tomorrow?"

He smiled and allowed himself to run his only hand through her tangled raven black hair. She didn't seem to object, being just on the edge of consciousness.

"It's ok. Sleep. I'll tend to your wounds. They can't wait until tomorrow, because they seem to be infected. I'm not going to let you die of a wound infection right after making your way through all those Templars and Saracen soldiers and I don't know who else, but I'm sure there are ones, to here with such valuable and urgent information. That would be just ridiculous."

She smiled with her eyes closed. He guessed then that she'd had her limit of words for that night.

By the time he returned to the room with a basin of hot water, which was rather hard to arrange for a one-handed person, even a master assassin, in the middle of the night without waking up half of the stronghold, she was already asleep. He put the basin on the small cupboard and started with gently removing the black silk from her body, helping himself with a dagger, trying not to disturb his precious visitor when removing the crusted pieces of material, desperately missing his second arm.

He bit his lip after eyeing the first serious wound, on her right upper arm, swollen and unhealthy-looking. The skin around it was hot, marked with the angry red lines of spreading infection.

"_That must be yours, Brother… She didn't have time to treat it properly…" _

As he continued, he found another one, healing, twice stitched, on her left side. That was going to leave a rough-looking scar.

"_Must've opened at least twice…"_

And, yet, another one, on her right hip, the most recent one, judging by the color and the scab. It was a deep one either, with upper layer of muscles torn. The skin had started to swell with this one as well.

"_That must've been on the way here. Wonder if the horse had survived that blow…" _

He sighed and unrolled the first linen. It was painful, unbearable – to watch this stunning woman, smart and strong, and tender when she wanted to be, lying like that, unconscious, exhausted, covered in blood and dirt, with feverish blush staining her beautiful cheeks… World should not be like that…

It was a pleasure to distract his mind with an already familiar work of manipulating between a wet cloth and vials of medicine with one hand. Malik tried to be quiet and gentle, biting his lip even harder each time he was sure that his movements caused her pain.

When everything was over, he picked up the dirty shreds of black silk along with the blood-stained linen and got up, not wanting to disturb her further with another touch.

He couldn't help stealing a tender glance at her, regardless. She looked no healthier, but at least her wounds were clean and covered with a healing salve, and she was under a warm blanket. That was all he could do.

She was with him. Alive. But the last peaceful hours were slipping away like the last grains of sand in a large hourglass that was turned upside down at the moment of her emergence.

"_Why do you always come only to bring the news of a gathering disaster?" _

He shook his head and left his bedroom, shutting the door tightly behind him, all his intentions to sleep vanishing like smoke.


	8. 7 Delusions

**A/N: **Wow, look, who's back :) I know, it was sooo bad of me to leave you for such a great amount of time! Shame on me, but I've got stuck in Lineage 2 %) I've always been so sceptical about MMORPG... It' s funny...

So, I'm back again, posting this piece from PDA, and via the local gprs in roaming (I'm not even at home now %), thus, I'm asking you not to be too strict. It was rather hard to put everything in order here. The text still may be crappy in places, it's hard to fix every space on a 3,5'' display :)

As usual, I'd appreciate a word or two from my faithful readers ^.^

Enjoy!

**Warning: ****mild sexual content.**

**Mercy in White**

**Chapter ****7**** -----"****Delusions****"-----**

That was the night of memories he couldn't help bringing back to life...

_As the hot breath of Damascus breeze played with the hair of the dancing woman, threw it in her eyes, she simply laughed and stepped even closer to the fire, moving her hips to the soft rhythm of Arabian melody, hypnotizing every single male person around._

_He gasped and tried to swallow, his throat suddenly as dry, as the hot sand under the __gracious bare feet of the dancer. Trying to bring himself back together, he looked around, noting how that magic dance drew the attention of a small group of armed men, captivating them, erasing all traces of tension from their faces._

_That was good. She, indeed, was perfect for such job. Better than anyone else. What could be so suspicious in a simple act of self-expression, in the depths of the poor district? The girl, of course, should have been more careful than to draw such unnecessary attention... He could already see the smirks and lustful glares, burning holes in the slender body of the young dancer..._

_Part of him, and that was annoyingly surprising, was suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to dig those dirty eyes out of their sockets in order to stop those heavy glares..._

_He swallowed again. _

_"It's hard to work with you..."_

_Restraining himself, he caught a warning look from her. It was almost the time. He should concentrate._

_But again, against his will, his look was drawn to that slender body moving by the fire, her__ ornamented clothes jingling with every move of those delicious hips, lulling, calling, inviting his eyes to wander over the slim waist and the flat muscled belly, highlighted by the orange flames from below, and higher, to enjoy the view of two wonderfully round tight breasts under the tiny decorated top. And above all that - a pair of laughing exotic-colored steel-grey eyes and the decorated mask, covering the lower part of that fine-shaped face._

_That was a personified sin. That kind of dancing should be illegal..._

_Malik blinked. As the old-looking ragged musician shook his head, the music slowly began fading, telling the accidental audience that the show was over.__ The young woman bowed graciously, picked up her bag and disappeared between two dilapidated houses._

_Th__at was not a satisfying turn for the armed men beside the fire. Murmuring various obscenities, they followed her into the shadows._

_Malik threw a small coin in the opened palm of the ragged musician and in a single fluid __motion scaled up the wall of the nearest building. That was __**his**__ route..._

_-----_

_She laughed, __nibbling at a piece of ripe peach, and that melodical laughter reminded him of little bells that children used to tie to horses' manes on occasions._

_"You shouldn't worry that much. Everything went just perfectly. You've got the letter, haven't you?"_

_Malik nodded, pouring more forbidden wine to their cups - "Master will be satisfied. We'll have to deliver it as soon as we can"_

_She took the cup and pouted - "I don't want to make it all the way up to Masyaf now. It's not fair. I think we deserve a proper rest, don't we?"_

_Malik raised an eyebrow, looking around - "Here?"_

_And immediately felt himself being lifted up on his feet and dragged to the clean space near the fire._

_"__Stop raising your eyebrows at me!"-she hissed and raised her head-" Have you ever seen such beautiful sky in the reach district? I bet you haven't!"_

_Malik smiled, swallowing a dozen of sarcastic answers, and followed her, nodding to Raouf, the musician._

_"I see it so, you liked my dance..." - he heard the soft whisper in his ear, her hot breath burning flames on the skin of his neck__, the electricity running through his spine down to his toes._

_And the magic began once more, only this time it was only for him..._

_He didn't even notice how the warmth in his belly grew into a fire, burning them both from inside, as her movements became faster, as they became closer and closer, until he could breathe in her intoxicating smell, a mix of some exotic flowers and salty ocean. Not only the metal decorations on her clothes jingled, but his whole body jingled and resonated, aching to touch that velvet skin, to run fingers through that raven black hair..._

_She raised her eyes to meet his dazed look, and he drowned in those pools of liquid silver, highlighted by the orange flames. With a shaking hand, he gently cupped her chin, his forehead to hers, so blessedly close..._

_She had tempted him since the very first time he ever laid his eyes on her. He suspected, that she had the same effect on every single male person in the raduis of at least __few hundred steps around herself. Or, more precisely, she could have had that effect if she weren't hiding her true face from everyone except only those few, allowed by Al Mualim._

_Malik was so happy that he was allowed to see her true face without those everyday masks..._

_And, sometimes, so happy,that __**he**__ couldn't even imagine, what a beautiful flower grew by his side..._

_If there could be a rivalry more cruel than between two best pupils fighting for the praise from their Master, then it certainly was the one between two young men for the attention, for a single look of a breathtakingly beautiful young woman. Even if one of those men __had sincerely considered her to be one of his Brothers, that didn't change much... At least, for Malik..._

_She could be herself with him, she trusted him as much as the secret at the cost of her life, but even when her kisses burned down the hot paths on his neck__ that night, when his lips found their way down to the delicious little nipples under the thin fabric of her top, immediately torn to shreds and pushed away, even when he traced the sculpted lines of her belly with his tongue, leaving the pattern of fire, making her gasp and open those sweet full lips, longing for a breath of air, he still had the feeling of distance between them... Even when he entered her, making her moan and whisper his name, proving herself to be as human, as him, though it could hardly be seen in different circumstances, when he moved inside her, insane from____the impossible heat, faster and faster with every breath, watching her closed eyelids tremble..._

_Even then... She still remained mystery to him... No closer than before..._

_And, what was more sad, the wall between them had a __quite certain name..._

_-----_

Malik sighed and put the final dot in his signature. That was the last of the seven letters he had to send in order to prepare their allies for the new possible strike of conflict, and, probably, even gather more information. Folding the paper, he once again tried to stop the torrent of mixed bittersweet memories.

It was not that he was obsessed with her. No. He had long ago learned his place with her, learned to work beside her without unnecessary distractions.

He had convinced himself long ago that she was his close friend. That was more convenient. He valued his friendship with both her and Altaïr, his Brother, more than some unnamed unanswered feelings.

Rubbing his eyelids, Malik opened the cage and took the last pigeon out, tied the letter securely to the bird's little foot, and turned to the window.

It was unavoidable... They'd had to meet again, sooner or later...

In the light of the latestnews, he would need both of them, maybe even in one team, the two people worth of half an army...

As the little bird flew higher and higher, bringing the news that would turn their little world upside down once again, to the last remaining faithful people, Malik inhaled the fresh mountain air and looked east, at the clearing sky. The new hard day was dawning.

A quiet cough from behind told him that one of the novices was waiting for his orders.

"Master has called for me?"

He turned around.

"Yes, Abdul. As soon as you see Altaïr, tell him, that I'm waiting for him here."

A silent nod, and the boy left.

Malik found one of lounges in the large library and sat down. That night had left him completely exhausted. He thought of returning to his bedroom to see how was his night guest, but only wearily closed his eyes.

So much to think over yet...

-----

He hardly slept that night. There were so many unanswered questions... Could that be, that his Brother, his most trusted companion, was keeping back, was hiding something from him?

Altaïr yawned and looked out of the window. Less than an hour before dawn. Maybe, he should try again... Maybe, he was mistaken, and all this conspiracy was just a trick of his imagination...

But, unfortunately, his intuition had almost always proved itself right.

He climbed on the window-sill and looked up, searching for the familiar path.

"It's time to catch you by surprise, Brother" - as a grin curved his bow-shaped lips, he began his way up, a flash of celestial white against the cold dark stone...

He had discovered that way of traveling outside the corridors of the stronghold shortly after Malik had chosen his chamber as the Head of the Brotherhood. It reminded him of their childish pastime, when they always tried finding the ways to each other's rooms without being noticed. Most of the time, though, it ended up in the chamber of Al Mualim, where, ears burning with shame, they usually humbly accepted their blame and their punishment.

This way partly lay above the dark chasm, and Altaïr could hardly imagine any other person capable of getting through it alive. That's why it stayed secret, rarely used by the discoverer himself.

As his trained legs and hands carried him higher, his thoughts returned to that strange talk with the velvet-voiced person in black. How could that be? He knew so much... How could the Teacher doubt Altaïr as much as to hide the whole existence of this man from him? Why had he chosen Malik? Was there any possibiity to discover the truth?

A quiet jump over the railing and Altaïr was standing on the stone floor of the large balcony, the luxury, allowed only to their new Master. Malik would not have anything against his visit, he had no doubts...

The picture on the balcony, though, made Altaïr stop in his tracks, surprised. Two glasses, a vase with fruit, the pile of pillows in disarray - every small detail was telling him, that his Brother was not alone that night. Judging by the bottle of wine, a rare pleasure in this land, the guest was rather close person to the owner of the chambers.

He slowly raised his eyes to watch the fluttering curtains, and suddenly thought of the room behind them. Can this visitor still be there? Can he disturb someone' solitude by breaking into that room?

And then, one more thought came to his mind, making him move the light curtain aside, and quietly step into the delusive gloom of Malik's sleeping chamber.

_"Can it be him? Has he made it all the way up to here so shortly after me?"_

As his eyes adjusted to the first light of dawning day, he saw someone lying on the bed, half covered by the warm blanket. Coming closer, he noticed with anxiety, that two visible hands could not belong to his Master...

It was a woman...

His eyes in the shadow of the white hood opened wide in surprise, as he silently watched those unmistakable curves under the blanket, trying to guess what relationship could connect his Brother with this woman, lying on the bed in the heart of the most unassailable fortress in the Holy Land. This was the first time he ever saw a stranger in that chamber.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a quiet hiss of pain. Holding his breath, Altaïr watched the sleeping woman toss on the bed, her movements opening a part of her face and herright hand to his eyes.

He couldn't miss the familiar redness on her cheeks and the grimace of pain curving the fine features of her handsome face. Could this be a victim of some cruel rapist on the streets of the village below? Or an unlucky wife of an animal, not worthy of the word "husband"? Still, what was she doing _there_, in the bedroom of the Master of Assassin Brotherhood? For a person not of the Creed, seeing that room lead to only one kind of punishment...

The sight of her arm, casually thrown on one of the pillows, covering half of her face in the shadow, made him gasp in disbelief.

_"This can't be..."_

His look wandered over the bare shoulders to the lines of slim waist, covered under the blanket, but quite recognizable, and ended up at the gracious curve of her lower body...

It was a sculpture. Meeting such beauty was quite a seldom thing in a place where men had no opportunity to get themselves bound to another human being. No doubt, that was a living, breathing woman, and this woman had a bad-looking bloodied bandage on her right upper arm, most assuredly covering a wound. A wound that had occupied his thoughts ever since his scimitar slashed open that cream-colored skin...

As Altaïr moved a little closer to study the wounded arm, thinking about the possibility of a mistake on his side, stepping as quietly as he could, the gentle morning breeze blew through the light curtains, sending a cool wave inside the room, over the face and the shoulders of the woman under the blanket, making her stir, and hiss from pain in mid-motion, and open her eyes, searching for the source of her discomfort.

It was too late to hide.

Altaïr felt how every single cell in his body slowly froze under the studying glare of those so familiar steel-colored eyes...

-----

**A/N:** Yet another cliffhanger, huh? :) It was more convenient to divide the storyline in two parts, sorry *puppy look* Hope you will wait till the next update :)


End file.
